


odds are

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Moving On, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 17:49:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18504013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Steve’s hand spasms against his shoulder, and he pulls it back. “So whose are you?”





	odds are

They’re in Bucky’s bed, because Bucky refuses to ever be in anyone else's. And Steve is angry, blue eyes flashing. But they’ve been singing this elegy for a while now and no amount of bruises against his heart can keep Bucky from this.

“Whatever were  _ were, _ whatever we  _ had _ , it wasn’t gonna last in our time, and it certainly ain’t gonna last now,” Bucky whispers. He traces skin that lost scars he used to dig his nails into. Ones from  _ before _ the war. “We aren’t the same people, Steve. And we couldn’t make it work then. Certainly can’t make it work now.”

Steve stares at Bucky and his eyes are summer freedom blue and for half a second he’s Bucky’s Steve again, and the fire burning  _ means _ something. “Don’t give me that, Buck. We’re the same people.”

Bucky cuts him off. He wants to do it with a kiss but that’s a bad idea so he slips off the bed. “I don’t-,” he inhales sharply. “Steve, when I look at you, I don’t see  _ you _ . Not the kid from Brooklyn who followed me to war. Not the boy I kissed before anyone else, who kissed me first. I see,” he swallows. “Nobility. A Warrior. A hero. All these good things, but they don’t mean shit to me, when I can’t find my old friend. And I don’t, I’ve never needed a hero, Steve. You know this. I just needed a friend. Someone on my side. Who knew me, and who I knew.” 

He can hear Steve moving but he doesn’t turn, not even when a heavy, too-warm-too-thick hand lands on his shoulder. “Don’t Bucky. Don’t give me that ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ crap.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s corroded pennies in an empty crane game. “It’s you and it’s me, Steve. We aren’t those same bright-eyed recruits just lookin’ to wear the uniform. You’ve never been mine, Steve. Not to keep, and I always knew it. Peggy was first, and in a normal life she’d’ve probably been the last. But you aren’t mine, and as much as I want to be, I’m just… I’m not yours.” 

Steve’s hand spasms against his shoulder, and he pulls it back. “So whose are you?” 

Bucky is quiet, for a long time. When he turns, he does kiss Steve. A hard, salty press of chapped and warm lips, no bite but the anger at time. “I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know that I’m anyone's, anymore.”

Steve presses his forehead to Bucky's. For a minute they’re back in the mud, rain and shouts and smoke all around them, blocking it out for just each other. “We know who you want, though.”

They don’t talk about the emerald lightning, Bucky likes to get caught between. Just like they don’t talk about the ruby dancer Steve’s been spinning in his bed. But Bucky knows how often he gets to keep good things, and he knows how many medals Steve keeps in satin beds. And the odds? Well, Steve’s always beat the odds.


End file.
